


So Familiar a Gleam

by ekaterina



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekaterina/pseuds/ekaterina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re going to get to talk to your mom. She’s not dead, not sleeping. Really there. You have to take a moment to compose yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Familiar a Gleam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mercurialMalcontent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercurialMalcontent/gifts).



> If Rose and Roxy hadn't been woken up by Calliope's magic dust - instead transported to a dream bubble.

There’s a moment when whatever the troll girl threw at you hits you where your vision is entirely sparkles. You hear a pop, then the emptiness of the place you were before is replaced by substance. You open your eyes to find you’re lying on your back staring at the ceiling. There’s someone lying next to you.

Immediately you’re tense. Dave, most of the trolls, they know not to sneak up on you when you’re sleeping. You’re making a mental catalog of who it could possibly be while you sit up and-

Oh.

It’s her. Your… mom, for lack of a better name for her. She had called you Mom too. You wonder how much she knows about what happened in the scratch. You guess you could ask. It hits you that you’ve finally got that chance. The dream bubble the two of you have ended up in seems stable. You’re going to get to talk to your mom. She’s not dead, not sleeping. Really there. You have to take a moment to compose yourself.

She’s sitting up, rubbing her forehead with her palm. Then she sees you.

“No WAY!”

She throws her arms around your neck and laughs. You can feel it shake in her stomach, the sound big and sincere.

You don’t, can’t react. She stops laughing after a second, pulls you back by the shoulders and looks at you. So you look back. She’s so like Mom was, especially in that dress. You wonder if she thinks the same about you, if looking at you hurts the same for her. It’s a good hurt, the kind that simmers in your chest, the kind of hurt that makes you feel warm.

She’s smiling, but there’s something behind it you don’t like. It looks like disappointment. You hope it’s not disappointment.

You keep your face from changing, revealing what you’ve realized is fear, fear you won’t live up to whatever she had before the game. After a second she flops over backwards again, looks at the ceiling instead of you. She’s making snow angels, although there’s no snow. Floor angels, you suppose. You wonder if she’s drunk. Just like old times, a part of you whispers. But when you lean over her, her eyes are clear and lucid.

Fuck subtlety, you decide. You cock your head to the side. “Disappointed? I’ll have you know there’s no need to be. I’m quite awesome.”

She smiles bigger and now you can tell it’s for real. You pat yourself on the back internally.

She sits up. You un-cock your head.

“You’re the real deal, aren’t you? You talk just how she wrote. How you wrote? IDK shit’s confusing.”

This takes you aback for a moment, both the insinuation that she’s read your writing and the fact that she just used text-speak in conversation. Although you should have figured on the latter; she is ectobiologically related to Dave.

“I’m pretty damn real,” you say, “Rose Lalonde, in the dream-flesh.”

She gives a faux dramatic gasp. “Is that how you say our last name? I’ve been saying it wrong all this time?”

You must give her a look because she immediately bursts out laughing. “I’m only messing,” she tells you, “And I know your name. It’s all over your books.”

“Books.”

“Complacency of the Learned. You must not have written them yet or something.” She shrugs. “Shit’s confusing. I said it before.”

“I actually published those in your universe? Well that’s gratifying, to say the least. I’ve been putting a sizeable amount of effort into my writing recently. Nothing much else to do. Meteors only go so fast.”

“Well at least you are being productive unlike everyone I know who all they want to talk about is romance! I mean a girl can only take so much of ‘Roxy listen to my relationship probs! Roxy help me with my boyfraaaaaand! Roxy what do I do?!’”

You can't help the unattractive snort-giggle that comes out of your mouth. She has such an exaggerated way of talking, completely the opposite of your strict composure. You vaguely recall being drunk and wonder if you sounded anything like her.

“Well, Roxy.” She gives you a thumbs up. “ I guess you don’t want to hear my relationship problems either. Whatever shall we talk about?”

“First off, where are we?”

You had glanced around when you first regained consciousness, and it hadn’t taken more than a second for you to recognize it. “We’re in my bedroom.”

She makes her mouth into an ‘o’. “You sure like knitting, don’t you.” She nudges a sweater with her foot, looks around a little more. You want desperately for her to like it, you realize suddenly. You never wanted that from your mom, instead wanted her disapproval. This is probably healthier.

“I never met her, you know,” Roxy says suddenly. “My mom. You. The whole reason I even wanted to play this game at all was so I could, I don’t know, bring her back? And Callie told me I’d meet her. I thought that meant somehow prototyping my sprite.” She shakes her head. “That was not a well thought out plan. This is better.”

The bubble statics out for a second. Roxy jumps, then looks up at the ceiling. She’s pouting, at the universe, you guess, as if it will listen to her. She turns the pout on you.

“And what can I do about that?” you ask, but you reach out and squeeze her hand. She holds tight.

“I like you,” she says. “I’m gonna miss you when this conks out.” She gestures at the room with your joined hands. It flickers again as if in response.

“If all goes well we’ll be seeing each other soon.” You say it to comfort yourself as much as her. Despite not having said much to each other, you can tell talking to her felt. Easy. You want that. You want the realness of her fingers where they press on the back of your hand.

The bubble blinks in and out again. You can feel the edge of it coming up fast. This time it’s you who throws yourself into a hug. You’re still clinging to her as you both disappear.


End file.
